


Candy Canes

by truethingsproved



Series: Hunter [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison-centric, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia’s working her way through a box of miniature candy canes, which, it turns out, are kind of her weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy Canes

When she is awake, Allison Argent is not the type of person who usually cuddles, unless she is in one of two situations. In the first situation, she’s pretending she’s not cuddling, even though she absolutely is. She just doesn’t cuddle. It’s not her thing

In the second situation, she’s with Lydia.

Lydia somehow turns her into the biggest cuddler in the world.

Which explains why, right now, Allison and Lydia are laying in Lydia’s bed, Allison reading over Lydia’s shoulder. She’s the ‘big spoon’—as per usual, because she’s taller and Lydia’s a princess and likes being doted on. Allison’s only happy to oblige.

It started when Lydia almost died after being attacked by Peter. The concept of losing Lydia scared her almost more than losing Kate. With Kate, she’d known that she would die. There was no question. In those seconds, watching Peter with his claws ripping through Kate’s flesh, slashing her throat, spraying her blood, Allison hadn’t been afraid, she’d been  _angry._  The anger mobilized her. The anger gave her something to do. The anger made it possible for Allison to shoot that flask and to not regret it for a second.

With Lydia, it had been pure fear. Lydia, who teetered constantly on the thin edge between living and dying. Lydia, who had recovered only to lose her sense of self for days. Lydia, whose casual cruelty had become cause for celebration, because at least she was alive.

Lydia, who she’d abandoned this past spring when things got dangerous again, because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. Not again. Not after everything. Lydia, whose hair smells like orange and ginger and whose patronizing smiles are the most obnoxious things in the world and who Allison loves a kind of obscene amount.

It’s been one of those Tuesdays, the boring kind where really nothing happens. Even school was a waste of time today, and normally Allison likes having something to focus on, but no, it was all review and that just gets boring.

Lydia’s working her way through a box of miniature candy canes, which, it turns out, are kind of her weakness. She goes through candy canes the way Allison goes through cough drops when she catches a cold. She passes one to Allison before turning the page, and Allison rips the plastic case open with her teeth before reaching back to drop it in Lydia’s garbage can.

This is, without a doubt, the most satisfying way to read The Great Gatsby. Allison reads faster than Lydia only because she’s read it before, and for all her knowledge of math and science Lydia’s got a long way to go regarding literature published after 1900. When she invariably finishes the page first she nuzzles Lydia’s shoulder, yawning, and Lydia squirms and giggles. 

If anyone ever tries to hurt Lydia again, Allison’s going to gut them, pure and simple. She knows how. It wouldn’t be too hard.

Lydia turns another page and finishes another candy cane. She smells like peppermint too now, and Allison yawns again, bored with the book. She tightens the arm around Lydia’s waist, closing her eyes as she yawns again. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately. She hates being home. She hates being around her father. She’s getting fed up with Stiles. But being around Lydia somehow always feels less exhausting. She’s not sure why.

“Are you actually doing anything for Christmas?” Lydia asks, and Allison shakes her head before remembering that she can’t see her.

“Nope. Probably just volunteering again.” She’d spent Thanksgiving at a soup kitchen so as to avoid her father (and feeding people was always a plus). “Why?”

“You’re coming here,” Lydia says, and the way she says it makes it clear that it’s not a question, thank you very much, and so Allison doesn’t bother to argue.

“Okay,” she answers, and she closes her eyes, burying her nose in Lydia’s hair again.

Lydia doesn’t comment but Allison feels the slight huff of laughter that escapes her. 

Even if Allison’s not in love with Lydia she definitely loves her. Maybe she’s projecting. Maybe her desire for a woman in her life whom she can trust unconditionally is causing her to turn to the most consistent woman she has now. Maybe she likes feeling needed, and Lydia really does need her, even if she won’t admit it. Lydia needs her almost as much as she needs Lydia. Maybe her lack of a mother makes her more drawn to the girl she’s curled up around, because if Allison can’t be taken care of she can damn well make sure she takes care of the people around her.

Or maybe she just really, really loves Lydia Martin, and that’s simply how it is.


End file.
